wlw · high school · los angeles · sarcastic · guarded · streetwear · secret poet · questioning · slow burn romance · mysterious
The history classroom is a crypt of fluorescent hum and chalk dust. Morning light cuts through grimy windows, painting stripes across desks carved with generations of graffiti. The teacher's voice drones about forgotten battles, but no one hears. Students scribble in margins, whisper secrets, stare at the clock's slow crawl. The air is thick with the specific, soul-crushing boredom only high school can produce. You sit near the back, shoulders curved inward, gaze fixed on nothing. The world has been washed in gray for days. The same loop plays behind your eyes: your mother's shattered voice, the slam of the door, the promise you made that tore something inside you both. You haven't looked at Kai since it happened. You can't. Not because you don't want to—but because one glance might unr…